


I Wanna Feel (Your Love)

by infinitelymint



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, I don't know how to tag this, M/M, a lot of I love you's, because they really do, five emotions, five moments, fluff and smut and a wee bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-06 07:35:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1104149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infinitelymint/pseuds/infinitelymint
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five moments in Louis and Harry’s life based on five of the biggest emotions: fear, sadness, love, anger and joy.</p><p>Or the one with a little bit of everything, featuring a proposal, a serenade, timid conversation, heated arguments, a misunderstanding, small insecurities, plenty of ‘I love you’-s and a bit of shagging – also bonus (re)appearance of Louis’ Paris!sweater and a pair of banana-patterned socks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Wanna Feel (Your Love)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> Hiiiiiii.  
> So this is for AngstExpress, who pretty much just told me to write what I wanted to. I don't think this was what you had in mind - it was certainly not what I had planned on writing - but I hope you like it nonetheless.  
> Thanks to the lovely A for betaing - any and all mistakes you find are mine, as I allowed her next to no time to go through it.  
> Also, this is my first time actually writing smut, so if it's terrible, I'm really, very sorry.  
> Disclaimer: I own nothing, this is no reflection of reality, merely a manisfestation of a figment of my imagination, yadda yadda etc.  
> Merry Christmas all .xx

 

**FEAR**

“I’m scared,” Louis says, the dark granting him courage to voice thoughts he would otherwise have kept to himself. He feels it more than he can see it when Harry raises his head from where it had been resting on Louis’ chest, as they were cuddled together in Louis’ bed. It is their first night in their very own apartment, and it is equal parts terrifying and exhilarating. It hadn’t exactly been the kind of night Harry had expected it to be, they’d eaten dinner and curled up on the couch with Grease on Louis’ insistence, and that was fine – hell, that was perfect, but then Harry had wandered off to take a shower, cleaning himself thoroughly in preparation for what he was expecting to happen tonight, because they finally, finally had an actual place to themselves, not surrounded by the boys or their families, but when he’d returned the lights had been off in their room, and Louis was snuggled up in their bed. _Their_ bed, shit, Harry is so not used to that yet. So, anyway, Harry had merely crawled into bed, his damp curls soaking through the t-shirt Louis was wearing to bed, but the older boy hadn’t seemed to mind.

“Of what?” Harry questions, his hand trailing from where it was resting over Louis’ heart, to cup Louis’ cheek, stroking gently.

“Of- well, of us, really.” Louis confesses, thankful that he can only just make out Harry’s silhouette in the darkness. Louis isn’t really a fan of admitting to his own weaknesses, preferring to appear tough and unaffected, always using humour as a shield. So if he is going to spill his deepest and darkest fears, he preferres it to be when Harry can’t see his face. “We… We could tear apart the band, Harry. If this doesn’t work, you know? And how could it? We literally have every single odd against us-“

“Lou,” Harry interrupts. “We can do this, it’s-“

“You don’t know that, Harry. Life isn’t a bloody Disney movie, you know? It’s only going to get worse.” His voice was thick, tears threatening to fall, and, damn, this was not how he wanted other people to see him. It was Harry, though. It was Harry, and that made it okay. “So many people are already counting on us, Haz. Not just the boys, but, like, Paul and Lou and all the others. Like, what if something happens? What if we break up? What if it all becomes too much? They’re asking us to hide, Harry. To hide the fact that we’re together and in love, to act like we aren’t together. Shit, Hazza, they talked about beards – like, like that might actually become a thing we’ll have to do, pretend to be in a relationship with someone else. How can any relationship survive that? And when we don’t – if we don’t – it’s going to ruin everything. I don’t- It’s… Fuck, I’m terrified, Harry. I’m so, so scared. Like, you’re seventeen, Harry. People don’t meet the person they’re going to spend the rest of their lives with at sixteen, they’re not in a secret, covered-up relationship at seventeen. That’s so fucked up, Haz. And you’re you – you literally have the whole world to choose from. You’d be hard pressed to find anyone who wouldn’t want you, and, just, no.

“I’m so bloody scared, Haz.”

Harry is silent for a few moments, taking in Louis’ monologue, and, just, what? What the hell? He’s having such a hard time wrapping his head around the fact that this is Louis who is speaking – perfect, fantastic, invincible, don’t-give-a-shit-what-other-people-think-of-me-Louis, and that just does not fit. Except that it kind of does.

“Me too,” Harry says, raising his head from Louis’ chest, to lay it on the pillow, so that he can look Louis in the eyes. “I’m scared too, Lou. But I’m also so, so sure that we can do this. Together. There’s not a single doubt in my mind that I’ll want you forever. Maybe I am only seventeen, and maybe people don’t meet their soul mates at sixteen, but I met mine, yeah? I met you.” He takes a deep breath, and moves closer to Louis, resting their foreheads against each other.

“I get that you’re scared, because I am too. It’s so fucking scary, and I don’t want to hide, but I get that we have to. It’s terrifying, this situation and the future, and, well, everything basically. But it’s a little less scary when I’m with you, when we’re in it together. I think, I could probably do anything, as long as I get to do it with you. If we’re going to be scared, we might as well be scared together.

“And beards, publicity stunts, all that shit they were talking about – we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it, we’ll deal with all of it together.”

“Together?” Louis echoes, sounding marginally better than before.  And, well, that’s what Harry’s here for, really. Definitely. Harry inches his mouth towards Louis, connecting their lips as an answer. “Together.” Louis confirms, breathing the word against Harry’s lips.

They’re quiet for several moments, and then suddenly Louis is up in a flurry of movements. Harry rolls onto his back, propping himself up on his elbows, watching in bewilderment as Louis turns on the light, before moving back towards the bed. He sits himself on the side of the bed, next to Harry’s hips, and he grins impishly. The sudden mood change is overwhelming and unexpected – but that’s Louis for you, Harry supposes, going from one extreme to the next in the blink of an eye.

“I really don’t think this is how tonight was supposed to go, babe.” Louis says, as he runs a hand through his feathery fringe, a nervous habit he’s picked up ever since Lou started styling it like that. He runs his hands down Harry’s side, “I think we were supposed to have a lot more fun, and be a lot less sad tonight. First night really alone, eh? Our very own place.”

“Yeah,” Harry breathes, overwhelmed.

Louis crawls on top of him, straddling his stomach as he leans in to press his lips against Harry’s. Their lips move together, the kisses growing more and more heated, until they are full on snogging, panting into each other’s mouths.

Louis pulls back slightly, staring deeply into Harry’s eyes. “We can be as loud as we want, you know? No one to walk in on us, no one to hear us. Just you and me.”

“Yes.” Harry confirms, butterflies wreaking havoc in his stomach.

He can count the amount of times they’ve had, where they could really explore each other’s bodies on one hand – hell, he really only needs a couple of fingers, and being able to do so now, knowing that there is no distractions but the ones they pose themselves, is overwhelming.

Louis smiles, wide and happy – such a distinct mood change from his earlier frame of mind that it is almost unnatural, but Harry takes it. He figures they can talk at length about all the serious stuff tomorrow, but for tonight he just wants Louis inside of him.

Louis lifts his hips from where they’ve been straddling Harry’s, hovering on all fours above him. For a moment they are quite still, their eyes locked, and then Louis moves.

Harry barely has time to register it, before Louis has hooked his thumbs in the elastic of Harry’s pants, and is pulling them off Harry’s legs, leaving him completely naked on the bed.

Now, Harry likes being naked. Harry is comfortable being naked. Hell, oftentimes Harry even prefers being naked. And it’s not like it is the first time Louis sees him either, but there is something about the way he is lying on the bed now, his naked body on display for Louis that makes Harry equal amounts hazy with lust and so, so nervous.

He is suddenly acutely aware of the stubborn baby fat that is still clinging to his hips, how his ongoing growth spurt is leaving behind limbs long and awkward, limbs he has still not grown used to, or learned how to control. Lastly, he is painfully aware of just how hard he is, his hard cock resting against his stomach. Harry is a teenager, okay, and literally all it takes is one touch from Louis, and he is ready to go.

It seems that Louis is content to take his time staring at Harry’s body, though eventually, after what seems an eternity to Harry, he starts moving. He hovers over Harry, starting with pressing kisses to Harry’s mouth, and then moves to his jaw, down his neck, stopping to suck a mark into the place where his neck connects with his shoulder, and then kissing his way down each of Harry’s arms, and back up again, moving on to Harry’s chest, biting, sucking and kissing all over it, as if trying to commit every inch of Harry’s body to memory.

While covering Harry’s upper body with his hands and his mouth – sadly, leaving Harry’s cock entirely unattended – he keeps murmuring compliments into Harry’s skin. “Gorgeous, Hazza… Beautiful… So damn sexy… God, you’re so pretty…” each word sending Harry closer and closer to the edge.

“Lou. Lou. Lou.” Harry has been half chanting half moaning ever since Louis started his ministrations, and he soon finds himself letting out desperate sounds of need mixed with Louis’ name. “Lou, I can’t-“ Harry says, as Louis has moved his mouth to Harry’s inner thighs, giving them every bit of his undivided attention.

Louis finally moves his mouth from Harry, and straightens up slightly, his hand moving to Harry’s cock, squeezing the base tightly. “Not yet, love,” he says, as he keeps his hand on Harry’s cock for a moment more, stilling Harry’s threatening orgasm for the time being. “I’m gonna fuck you tonight, love. Okay? How’s that sound?”

It’s a rhetorical question, Harry knows. God, how could it be anything but? Harry seriously doesn’t hope that Louis actually expects an answer, because the moan that escapes Harry’s mouth is all he’s going to get. It seems to satisfy him though, because he reaches over Harry to their night stand and grabs a condom and the bottle of lube Harry himself had placed there earlier when they’d unpacked. Louis pauses, hovering over Harry’s face, to lean down and kiss him deeply. “You ready?” He questions, eyes blackened with lust, but still so fond and so loving.

“Yeah,” Harry breathes. “Just,” He moves his hands to Louis’ waist, and tugs at the t-shirt Louis is still wearing. “Just get this off first, please. I wanna see you.”

Kissing him one last time Louis nods and complies, moving back off Harry and pulling his t-shirt and pants off, leaving him just as bare as Harry. Harry finds some satisfaction in seeing that Louis’ cock is just as hard as his own, feeling a certain sense of pride that he has the same effect on Louis, as Louis has on him.

Grinning mischievously, Harry spreads his legs further apart, bending his knees slightly and exposing his hole more to Louis. “Are you going to get on with it then?”

Louis shakes his head, fond. “You’re such a shit, Haz, I swear to God.” He says, as he reaches for a pillow next to Harry’s head, and places it under Harry’s bum, raising it slightly off the madras.  He settles himself between Harry’s legs, and reaches for the lube, coating his fingers generously.

Harry is once again propped up on his elbows, so that he can see it when Louis reaches between the cheeks of his arse. He moans instantly, as he feels Louis’ finger ghost over his hole – the sensation fucking amazing.

“Okay?” Louis asks, locking eyes with Harry, who nods frantically, too overwhelmed to utter any words. He feels Louis’ finger press against his opening then, one finger gently sliding into Harry. The feeling is so fucking incredible, and Harry loves it, loves even the strangeness and the unfamiliarity of it. Loves how Louis’ finger feels inside him as he clenches gently, trying to adjust to the intrusion. Louis moves his finger then, pulling it almost out, before moving it in again, working up to a gentle rhythm before adding a second finger, and then a little while later a third. He’s moving slowly, curling his finger just right, finally managing to hit Harry’s prostate, and Harry, fuck, Harry can’t bloody think straight. Louis’ is playing Harry’s body like a violin, and it’s so bloody phenomenal. He’s going slowly, Louis is, so painfully slow, like he just wants to emphasize how they have all the time in the world, how they don’t have to worry or keep quiet anymore.

At that realization Harry lets out his loudest moan so far, just as Louis’ fingers press against his prostate once more. Harry has long since given up on keeping his head up, and is lying with his head back on the pillow, his spine curving upwards from pleasure. “I’m ready,” he manages to gasp out. “Fuck, Lou, I’m ready. I wanna feel you, wanna feel you now!” He’s practically whining, but he’s so past caring it’s ridiculous.

“Shit, Haz,” Louis says, his voice strangled. “You look so good like this, so fucking amazing for me. All spread out for me. So beautiful.” He pulls out his fingers, and leans forward, instantly shoving his tongue into Harry’s mouth, the kiss going straight to filthy. While kissing Harry, he manages to grab the condom, and getting it out of the wrapper – lube sticky hands be damned (Harry has just enough brainpower left to be slightly impressed). Louis breaks their kiss to roll the condom onto his own hard cock, and once he has coated it with plenty of lube, he moves back to hover over Harry. “I want your legs on my shoulders, think you can do that, babe?” He questions, as he strokes a gentle thumb down Harry’s cheek. Nodding eagerly, Harry lifts his legs, placing both on Louis’ shoulders. It is slightly uncomfortable, but the burn in Harry’s muscles is delicious, and it’s leaving his hole perfectly exposed for Louis.

Louis grabs onto Harry’s bum with one hand, holding it steady, while his other hand grips his cock, lining it up in front of Harry’s hole. The first thing Harry registers, as Louis starts to press in, is the delicious burn (Harry might have a little thing for pain, so what.), and he allows himself to moan loudly and unabashededly, as Louis keeps pushing himself further in, keeping a steady pace. When there is only a centimetre or two separating them, Harry pushes his bum towards Louis, taking him all the way in. They moan in unison, taking a moment or two to allow for both of them to adjust.

When Harry feels as though he might actually explode if Louis doesn’t start moving, he squeezes Louis’ bicep, signalling for him that he is ready. Louis complies instantly, pulling almost all the way out, before pressing all the way into Harry again. He moves at a steady pace, but it is fairly slow, Louis clearly holding himself back.

“Come on, Lou,” Harry says, and clenches around Louis’ member, a loud moan erupting from Louis’ mouth.

“Fuck, Haz.” Louis breathes, as he begins to quicken his pace, quickly moving up to a rhythm where he’s slamming steadily into Harry.

Neither of them is bothering to keep their voices down, their voices mingling together in loud exclamations of pleasure. It’s fucking amazing, it what it is. Harry loves the feeling of Louis inside him, the stretch, the slightly rough burn – it’s all amazing.

He can feel the orgasm pool in the pit of his stomach, his cock lying heavy, flushed and forgotten against his stomach, already dripping precum onto his belly.  He moves to put his hand on it, wanting to give in to the last thing he needs to reach his orgasm, but Louis’ slaps his hand away before he even manages to touch himself, and then wraps his hand around Harry instead. Which, okay, Harry can live with that, really, much better, in fact.

All it takes are a few strokes synchronized with the rhythm with which Louis is slamming into Harry, before Harry is coming hard all over his own chest. He’s never considered himself a screamer, but he’s got to admit that he’s pretty fucking loud this times as he comes, clenching around Louis, who is continuing to fuck into Harry, while Harry rides out his orgasm. All it takes is a few more rough trusts from Louis, before he stutters inside Harry, Louis’ entire body shaking as his own orgasm overtakes him.

When he’s finally back from his high, Louis collapses against Harry’s chest, smearing Harry’s come all over himself, but finding that he really couldn’t care less.

Another thing he doesn’t care the slightest about, is the fear that was poisoning his mind earlier, finding that he doesn’t give a flying fuck, really, because Harry and him are a solid thing. Sure, he might still be scared, but it doesn’t matter two cents, when he has Harry to be scared with. And he always will.

 

**SADNESS**

Sometimes Harry thinks that this is the price they have to pay, in order to get something so lovely and extraordinary as what they have. All things considered it could be a lot worse. A _lot_ worse. Like, he could never have met Louis. Or he could have met him, but never really _had_ him. In the bigger picture that is their life, Eleanor’s presence is a minor detail. It _is_.  Only some days, like today, it’s not. Sometimes, like when Harry sees pictures of the “loved-up couple” all over the magazines and twitter, or when he has to hear Louis talk about the girlfriend he loves so much in interviews, or when – God forbid – Eleanor is with them on tour, or at award shows, these sometimes it feels like the universe is trying to rip Harry apart at the seams. Slowly, limb by limb, until there is nothing of him left. Sometimes it is difficult to remember that Louis really is with him. When he walks out of the airport hand in hand with the brunette girl, nothing but a couple of feet from Harry (because “they are saying you aren’t friends with Eleanor, Harry, people are suspicious of your lack of interaction” – and just, fuck off, really. Just fuck off.), he almost forgets that he should be the one to hold Louis hand. In a perfect world.

And it’s unfair, because, right, Harry _knows_ – he knows, alright – that he isn’t in any position to complain. He’s a part of the biggest musical sensation in God knows how long, he’s achieved the kind of success no one ever dares dream of. He’s doing what he loves every single day, and by some fucked up twist of fate and a healthy dose of extreme luck, he gets to do so with the three best friends he could have ever asked for, and the love of his life. He’s so lucky, because he met his soul mate at sixteen, met this boy who was so impossibly perfect for him. Most people don’t even get to have this kind of love ever, Harry thinks, but he’s had it since he was sixteen, will have it for the rest of his life, if he has anything to say about it. So, really, if they have to hide it for the time being… Well, it sucks. But there are scenarios far worse, so Harry generally tries to stay positive. Also, it helps that he tries to stay as far away as absolutely humanly possible, from everything Eleanor related. If he could blacklist that name from his life, he would. Someone should get on figuring out how to do that, really, Harry would totally donate to research.

And it’s not that he doesn’t like Eleanor, not really. Like, he doesn’t even actually know her, to be fair. Has never made an effort to, because he just couldn’t. _Couldn’t_. What was he supposed to say? ‘Hi, you’re going to pretend to date my boyfriend while I lurk around in the shadows. You get him for the day, I get him for the night, how does that sound? Wanna be friends? We can paint each other’s toenails, I’m quite partial to fuchsia, what’s your colour?’ Because, well, no. Eleanor may be a nice girl, and she may be doing this for their benefit (and, you know, her own – Harry has seen what they’re paying her. Jesus.), but he is not going to make friends with her. If he wants to sit alone at home whenever Louis is out with her, and shoot darts at a picture of her head on the wall, well, then he pretty damn will so. Yes.

To be fair, Harry knows it’s not Eleanor’s fault. He knows she is just doing her job. He knows it isn’t Louis’ fault either, but that doesn’t stop him from blaming him sometimes anyway. Fact of the matter is that Harry is perfectly capable of separating reality from fiction, perfectly capable of separating the manufactured “Elounor” from the very real “HarryandLouis”, and most of the time he manages to do just that. He has survived through cuddly pictures from a French airport, that god awful kiss at the Olympics and so, so much more. He’s had to assign himself to not being with Louis on his actual birthday or New Years, made peace with the fact that Louis couldn’t be there when his mum married Robin, kissed Louis goodbye on the tour bus, as he had to leave to fly back to London for one day to celebrate Eleanor’s birthday. It’s okay.

The worst, perhaps, Harry thinks, is Louis’ sisters. Harry cares for them so much, have known them for three years, though as the years have progressed, he sees them less and less. But it hurts most, probably, that their relationship is a secret to even Louis’ closest relatives. That they can have something so pure and precious and final, and not even be able to tell Louis’ sisters. It’s… well, it’s shit, to be honest. Harry’s heart aches for Louis, for the distance that has grown between him and his sisters, a distance so wide that sometimes Harry wonders if it can ever be breached. Harry can’t imagine not having Gemma know, can’t imagine having to act every time he’s with his siblings, having to pretend to be someone he is not. Sometimes he wonders how they ever managed to dig themselves a hole this deep. Sometimes he wants to just say ‘fuck it all’, throw caution to the wind, and just tell the truth. Just lay out all their cards to the world, say – loud and clear – ‘I love this boy stupid amounts, I’d go to the end of the world for him, I’ve dreamt of marrying practically from the moment I laid my eyes upon him’, because every day they wait adds to the lies they have to own up to. Every moment that passes is another lie thrown upon the massive pile of lies and deceit that has formed since they met.

It’s impossible odds. Sometimes he shakes his head at how naïve he’d been, thinking that loving Louis would be enough. Never in a million years had he considered what hiding their relationship really entailed. Never had he considered the kind of toll it would take on him, or Louis, or them. Sometimes Harry thinks it is a miracle they’ve made it as far as they have, and then he thinks that it would take all the wonders in the world for them to make it to the end. The truth is: love isn’t enough. It takes so much more, so much more than he had ever imagined. And it is so much harder. He’d genuinely thought that as long as he loved Louis and Louis loved him, nothing could touch them. What a stupid, ignorant, idealistic boy he’d been. At times, for just the smallest of moments, Harry wonders if it is even worth it. There are times where he catches himself doubting if things will ever be better. Those are the worst times.

And it is ridiculous, of course it is absolutely ridiculous, because literally no matter what happens, no matter how many kisses Louis has to share with Eleanor, how many times they have to hold hands and go on vacation together, no matter how many major moments of each other’s lives Louis and Harry will miss out on – nothing, _nothing_ could be worse than not having Louis at all.

It doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt though. The fact that Harry has realised that the alternative would be so much worse doesn’t make the present easier. And most of the time Harry honestly does deal just fine. Most of the time he will distract himself with the other lads, or hang out with Grimmy, or call up Gemma, or visit his mum, and it would be fine. Other times, though, like today, he wants nothing more than to burry himself in their shared bed, breathe in Louis’ scent and sleep until he comes home.

As a general rule Harry stays off all social media on days where Louis is out, not wanting to see the massive amounts of tweets and the likes about them, or the fan photos that are without a doubt circling by now. This morning he was already feeling miserable, and some sort of twisted masochistic part of him wanted to see what Louis was up to, but even then he had no intention of subjecting himself to that kind of torture.

Fate had other plans though. When Harry reached for his phone and unlocked it, as he did every morning, he was met with an open twitter app. A twitter app open to Louis’ mentions, because – what even was Harry doing last night? He can barely remember. The feed refreshes itself, and Harry catches glimpses of the tweets he tries so hard to avoid

‘Louis and Eleanor shopping today – look so cute !’

‘Louis and El were holding hands today xx’

‘OMG OMG OMG OGM JUST SAW LOIUS AND ELENAOR KISS!! OMG!!!!’

His brain shuts down momentarily, and as if his arm goes into survival mode, it tosses his phone aside. It bounces softly on the bed, stilling in the middle of Louis’ half.

Fuck.     

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

Exhaling forcefully, Harry brings the heels of his hands to his eyes, digging them in harder than necessary. Shit. His mind is whirring with conjured mental images of Louis and Eleanor together. Shopping, apparently. Holding hands and kissing, apparently. Fuck. Harry can’t even as much as acknowledge Louis’ presence when in public, but Eleanor gets to be all over him. Shit, Lou and Eleanor barely even like each other anymore – Louis is constantly coming home complaining about her. And just, bloody hell, it’s just so, so unfair, is what it is. Jesus.

Harry hadn’t noticed when the tears had first made their way past his tightly closed eyelids, the moisture on his cheeks coming as quite the surprise. It’s unstoppable, though, the waterworks. Sort of like the kind of thing that once you’ve opened cannot be closed. Damn.

And, like, Harry’s not really a crier, not _really_. He’s sensitive, sure. He cares more than he probably should, and a fair few things do bring tears to his eyes, like orphaned children in Ghana, and the ending of Titanic. But he doesn’t really cry a lot about his own life, figures he has it too good to really do so. It would be ungrateful, really, to sit around bawling over the hand life has dealt him, when so many, many, many people have it so much worse than him.

This time, though, there’s no turning back, the tears making their way down his face in a steady stream. It’s been a long time, though, since he last had a good cry over their situation, so Harry figures it’s well overdue.

The thing is: it hurts. He likes to act like he’s okay, like he’s fine, because he knows that it is just as hard for Louis, knows that the last thing he needs is Harry’s tears added to his conscience – he already feels guilty enough. But right now, when it’s just Harry, he suddenly finds that he can’t hold back. Letting go of the last what’s been holding him back, he lets out a large, ugly sob.

It feels as though someone’s come and ripped apart his insides, twisted a knife in his stomach and crushed every bone in his body. It’s a deep ache within him that no matter what he attempts, he is unable to stop. Shaking and sobbing he lets it all out, chanting a mixture of  ‘ _it’s unfair, it’s unfair, it’s unfair_ ’ and  ‘ _Lou, Lou, Lou_ ’ in his head.

And for the first time, Harry really allows himself to feel sorry for himself, to feel sad for Louis and him. For what they are forced every day to hide. Because maybe they do have practically everything they could ever have wanted, maybe they did find ultimate love so, so early, but nobody should be forced to hide who they are, like they are forced to hide. Nobody should have to hide something as pure and good, as what they have together.

Practically blind from tears, Harry reaches out, fumbling for his discarded phone. His fingers close around it, and he squints through the curtain of tears clouding his vision, managing to find his iMessage conversation with Louis, typing in the words quickly before he can think too much about it, and stop himself. He pushes send.

‘I miss you.’

 

**LOVE**

The first thing that registers for Louis when he wakes up, is that he’s really fucking hot. It takes him a few more moments to register why, though, and it’s not until he hears Harry whimper softly in his sleep that he realizes that the reason for the heat is Harry. He turns around to face Harry gently, careful not to wake the sleeping boy who is spooning him from behind. Louis’ own back in drenched in sweat where it’s been pressed up against Harry, and when he gently lays his hand against Harry’s cheek, he’s burning up.

So, Harry’s ill.

It shouldn’t really come as a surprise to Louis, it’s only days since he got over his own bout of illness, and the amount of time he spends with Harry, and the amount of intimate physical contact they have on a daily basis – well, it’s kind of to be expected by now that when one gets ill, the other will follow soon after. Management has attempted to talk them into separating while one was sick almost every time it’s happened, but there isn’t a single argument in the history of forever that could convince them of staying apart.

Louis extracts himself from Harry, untangling the limbs that have fitted together seamlessly, like they were made to slot against one another. He’s careful not to wake Harry, knows that he’s going to feel terrible once he wakes up, and wanting him to have as much sleep uninterrupted as possible. Once out of bed, he grabs a change of clothes, and heads to the bathroom for a much needed shower.

He’s relieved to find that Harry’s still asleep in their bed when he returns, and goes to rummage through his suitcase, looking for the leftover medicine from when he was sick himself. He sets it on the bedside table, so that it is ready for Harry, when he wakes up. He brews them two cups of tea as well, choosing to skip breakfast for now, not wanting to either leave Harry alone in the room, or risk waking him up with the smell of food in their room. He settles back against the head board of the bed, a notebook resting against his propped up knees, and his cup of tea in his hand. He chews absentmindedly on the end of a pen, while he lets his mind wander. He’s been working on a lot of songs for their next album with Liam – has been working on a lot just him and Harry as well, even though they’re both perfectly aware of the fact that they’ll never even be considered for the album, solely based on the fact that they’ve written them just the two of them.

Thing is, though, that Louis feels like he’s found a place for him with the song writing. There is something amazingly clarifying about it, and for someone like Louis, whose mind is a constant whirlwind of thoughts and ideas and memories and God knows what, writing has been a godsend. He’d never really considered that it might be something he’d be good at, but… Well, so far he seems to be doing all right. Better than all right, really, if he’s allowed to brag a little.

He knows Harry’s been working on a few songs himself too, though he’s refused to let Louis take a peek at the lyrics. It makes Louis suspect that maybe they might be about him. About them. Or at least as much about him and them, as they can be under the circumstances.

He can certainly relate. He has a song that is just about the most soppy declaration of love ever to be written filed away in his “done lyrics”-compartment of his brain (and on his computer, Jesus, don’t worry), and he has yet to play it for Harry or any of the other boys. It’s not that he’s ashamed – he honestly thinks it’s a brilliant song, possibly – probably – the best he’s written yet, and it’s honest and real and – thank God genderneutral. It’s about Harry. One hundred and ten percent about Harry. He’s equal parts excited and terrified about playing it for him.

It’s not that he doesn’t want them to hear – for Harry to hear. _It’s not_. It’s just that he doesn’t know how to go about it. It feels too important, too personal to just play one day over lunch on the tour bus. It feels too massive, too significant to just treat like any other song. Because it’s not. This is going to be the closest he gets to express his love for Harry in public for a very long time, and… It’s just big, is what it is.

Also, if he’s entirely honest with himself, there’s this tiny part of him that is terrified that the other boys won’t like it. Absolutely petrified that Harry won’t like it. He’s literally pouring his heart out in the song, and even though he knows with every fibre of his being that Harry loves him unconditionally, he can’t help but feel like it would be some sort of rejection for Harry not to recognize the song for what it is – for what it means – for him not to like it and appreciate it.

Shit. Louis is a bit of a wreck regarding the song, to be honest. He’s absolutely never had to deal with this kind of trash before. And here he thought that an established, strong relationship meant less insecurity and fear of rejection. Apparently not when your name is Louis William Tomlinson.

It takes Harry starting to stir to reel back from his thoughts, and as soon as he hears Harry’s groan of pain, he shifts into instant worried-boyfriend-mode.

“Hey, easy there, love,” He says gently, as Harry’s hands move sluggishly to push his damp curls from his forehead. Louis brushes Harry’s hair away himself, and gently strokes his thumb over Harry’s temple, mentally wincing at the headache he imagines Harry must have.

“Hurts…” Harry groans out, his voice raspy with sleep and illness.

“I know, babe,” Louis replies softly. “I think you caught what I had. ‘M really sorry, Haz. I’ve got some medicine for you here, should make you feel at least a little bit better.”

Harry’s body is largely uncooperative, but somehow Louis managed to get him into a position where he’s leaning his head somewhat against the headboard. Harry swallows the pills gratefully before gulping down as much of the lukewarm tea Louis offers him, as he can. Finally he drops against Louis’ side, and snuggles into his warmth. Harry has gone from being overheated to being freezing, and Louis absolutely does not mind being Harry’s heater.

“You writing?” Harry questions quietly with his eyes now closed again, seeming content to just rest against Louis side.

“Nah,” Louis replies, quite by instinct carding his hand absentmindedly through Harry’s curls, massaging his scalp gently. Harry sags further into Louis with a content sigh. “Just thinking really, throwing some ideas around.”

“Hmm.” Harry hums, his lips pressed against Louis’ ribcage. It’s ridiculous how much Louis feels Harry’s touch, even through the cotton t-shirt he’s wearing to bed. It feels as though Harry’s lips burn a hole through his skin when he presses them more firmly against Louis’ side. “I love you.” Harry states when he pulls his lips from Louis again. His eyes remain closed, but his smile is private and serene – one of those Harry-smiles that next to no one but Louis gets to see – and he tightens the hand that has somehow ended up under Louis’ shirt, clutching the bare skin of his hip. “Love you so much, Lou. Love it when you take care of me.”

Louis feels his heart swell with adoration for the boy in his arms. This wonderful, wonderful boy who has grown to be such a beautiful, beautiful man. It’s still astonishing to Louis that he’s gotten to see this transformation in Harry – seen him literally go from boy to man in front of Louis’ very own eyes. It’s absolutely beyond belief.

He tightens his hold of Harry just a little bit, and bends down awkwardly to place his lips on Harry’s curls. “I love you so, so much.” He tells him, and it is so, so true. Louis wasn’t aware you actually could love another person like he loves Harry. He didn’t dare dream that it was actually possible. What they have is so precious, so special, and Louis doesn’t spend a single second of any day taking it for granted. He knows how unbelievably lucky he is to have Harry, knows how rare something like what they have is. He would fight for it until the bitter end, would got through fire and ice, and slay a thousand dragons. There isn’t a single thing he wouldn’t do to keep Harry.

Hence their current predicament with the world, really.

“Anything you need, love,” He continues. “You know that. Just say the word and it’s yours.”

Harry sighs content, and nods his head carefully against Louis’ shoulder. He’s quiet for a moment, before saying, his voice barely more than a whisper: “Sing to me?” Louis is quiet for a moment, having absolutely not expected that. “Just,” Harry continues carefully. “I love your voice, Lou, and, just, please…” He trails off, as if not knowing where he wants to go with the sentence.

“Yeah,” Louis breathes. “Of course, of course I’ll sing for you, Harry.” He’s quite dumbfounded, having expected absolutely everything before expecting Harry might ask him to sing. In retrospect that’s quite ignorant of Louis. Louis knows how very, very fond Harry, for some reason, is of his voice.

It takes him a moment to decide, but in the end he chooses to throw caution to the wind, and – well, no time like the present, isn’t that what they say? Just do it, carpe diem, seize the day, etc.?

“It’s, uuhm…” Now that he’s decided to do it, he doesn’t really know how to approach it. “It’s new.” Is what he settles on, before he continues, “And, well, it’s going to be a capella, so it probably won’t really do it justice. And obviously not all of it is written to be sung by my voice, so-“

“Lou,” Harry cuts him off. “You’re gonna sing something you wrote?” He has tipped his head, so that he’s staring up at Louis, his eyes big, green and glassy with fever. He looks beautiful.

“Yeah.” Louis breathes in confirmation.

Harry’s answering smile is almost blinding, and he looks so, so lovely, even riddled with illness as he is. “I’m sure it will be wonderful, even without the music. Probably even better like that. Probably better just you. Yes. I like it best when it’s just you.”

Louis shakes his head, fond. Harry’s ridiculous most of the time, more so when ill. “Okay.” He settles on anyway. Breathing deeply, he steels himself, ready to start. “It’s called ‘Strong’,” is what he opens with, and he feels Harry nod against his chest. It’s not exactly an ideal singing position they’re in, but Louis doesn’t allow himself to dwell on it before he starts:

_My hands, your hands_  
 _Tied up like two ships_  
 _Drifting, weightless_  
 _Waves try to break it_  
 _I'd do anything to save it_  
 _Why is it so hard to say it?_

He feels it more than he hears it when Harry’s breath hitches right in the beginning of the song. He doesn’t have to ask to know that Harry’s caught within the first two sentences that it’s about the two of them. He feels the goose bumps on Harry’s skin, and knows that it’s not from the cold this time. It’s all him. It’s all his song.

It’s also better than he’d dared to hope, the singing that is. The song actually works rather well a capella, and Harry certainly isn’t complaining, his undivided attention focused on Louis, lending him even more confidence to sing, as he moves into the chorus:

_I'm sorry if I say, "I need you"_  
 _But I don't care,_  
 _I'm not scared of love_  
 _'Cause when I'm not with you I'm weaker_  
 _Is that so wrong?_  
 _Is it so wrong_  
 _That you make me strong?_

He’s been avoiding actually looking as Harry so far, but as the chorus is almost at the last line, he feels his gaze shift without command, until his eyes lock with Harry’s. He sings everything directly at Harry from that moment on.

 _So, baby, hold on to my heart, oh, oh_  
Need you to keep me from falling apart  
I'll always hold on  
'Cause you make me strong

He gently moves his hands to wipe the tears from Harry’s cheeks that has steadily been falling since the first chorus, and Louis feels like he literally sees the recognition in Harry’s eyes, as he sings “I’ll always hold on”, both of them remembering a rough time, a desperate song and a reassurance that they would never let the other go.

_I'm sorry if I say, "I need you"_  
 _But I don't care,_  
 _I'm not scared of love_  
 _'Cause when I'm not with you I'm weaker_  
 _Is that so wrong?_  
 _Is it so wrong_  
 _That you make me strong_

Silence follows for several moments after Louis is done singing, and for a few terrible seconds Louis panics about what he’s just done. The panic lasts only until other matters take precedence though, like Harry twisting his body slightly, to positively cling to Louis, as though he was a bloody koala or something.

“Harry?” He asks gently, while his hand rubs soothing circles on Harry’s broad back. “Love?”

Harry loosens his grip on Louis slightly, and draws back enough to align himself with Louis, and rest his burning forehead against Louis’ cold one. It makes Louis slightly cross eyed to keep eye contact with Harry when they’re this close. He moves one hand from Harry’s back and brings it to his face, wiping away the tear tracks on Harry’s cheeks again.

When Harry finally speaks, his voice is still rough with illness and sleep. “For me?” He questions, voice filled with wonder and surprise and so, so much love.

Louis smiles softly, aware that what he is about to say is the most soppy thing that has probably ever left his mouth, but they’re both ridiculously sentimental, so he figures it will be okay. “Everything I do, I do for you.”

Harry closes his eyes, squeezing them shut, and a lone tear falls down his cheek as he lets out a small laugh. Louis cranes his head to place his lips on Harry, catching the tear before it makes its way all the way down.

“I can’t believe you wrote this for me, God, Lou…” Harry is silent for a moment. “Lou,” He continues. “Lou, it’s amazing, I love it, it’s so, so good. And it’s for me, shit, I can’t even wrap my head around it. It can’t- fuck, Lou, I can’t believe you wrote that for- about me. I love you. Fuck. So much, Louis. So much. And you make me strong, too. I could never have done all this without you. You know I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I- I just want it to be you and I forever!”

Louis’ answering smile is soft and fond. “Yeah, same here, love” He agrees, and moves his head slightly, pressing his thin cool lips to Harry’s fuller, burning ones – they slot together like they were made to fit.

 

**ANGER**

“I can’t do this anymore, Louis.”

“Excuse me?” Louis says, his voice oddly calm, a stark contrast to his hands, which has balled into fists so tight his knuckles are turning white. “You can’t do this anymore? _You_ can’t do this anymore? Are you fucking kidding me, Harry. You think you’re the only one having a rough time? You think this is a bloody picnic for me? Are you-“

“Lou-“

“No. Shut up. Fucking hell, Harry. You can’t do this anymore? Three fucking years, and you suddenly can’t do this anymore? That is such bullshit.”

“Look, that’s not what I-“

“Not what you meant? Really, then pray tell, what did you mean?”

“I’m so fucking sick of this, Lou. I’m so sick of returning to you every night only to have you be so bloody passive aggressive about me spending time with my friends.”

“Oh, there’s nothing passive about this, Harold.” Louis says, his voice snappish, the use of Harry’s nickname anything but a term of endearment.

“Fucks sake, Louis. I just wanna spend time with my mates without coming home to you, and having to listen to your snide remarks about them. I’m 19 years old, I just wanna go out, and get pissed and have fun, but lately every single time I get home, you’ve been so fucking mad! Like now, Christ, Louis, I’m trying to have a proper adult conversation about this. And you just… You just-”

“I just?” Louis asks, absolutely seething. “ _I_ just? Me, Harold? Are you fucking kidding me?” He shakes his head in disbelief, and turns to face Harry fully. His eyes are narrowed and filled with malice quite unlike what Harry has seen directed at him before. “This isn’t me, Harry. This is all you. All you. You’re the one giving up. Not me. So don’t you dare blame me.”

For a moment there’s nothing but silence. Harry’s brow is furrowed, as if he’s confused by what Louis is insinuating. Apparently he is, because his next words come out cautiously, like he’s afraid of what answer he might get: “Giving up? What are you talking about, Lou?”

Louis snorts, and looks away from Harry when he feels his eyes start to water. Fuck. It’d been much easier keeping the heartbreak at bay, when he’d been pissed at Harry. Fuck. Now he’s just sad, the whole situation hitting him at once like a full speed car to his sternum. He steels himself, blinking – unsuccessfully – to get rid of the tears that were now threating to fall. Raising his head defiantly to look at Harry again, he narrows his eyes at him. “’I can’t do this anymore.’” He quotes mockingly.

Harry’s eyes widen in surprise. “Shit, Lou, love,” He says, seeming mortified by Louis’ assumption. “Shit, no. _No_. Not this as in our relationship – never that. This as in all the snide remarks and all the fighting. I just want not to feel as though I have to choose between you all the time-“

“Well, excuse me,” Louis’ interrupts, feeling some of the dread in his stomach ebb away with Harry’s words, “If I don’t think that ought to be that difficult a decision. We barely get any time to ourselves here at home, and you choose to spend it all with Grimshaw instead of me-“

“I spend most of my time with you, Lou. You know that. I return to you every night. I don’t get what the big problem is with me hanging out with Nick. And I just… If this is about some insecurity or whatever, you know, like - Lou, for fucks sake… What is the problem? Jesus, why are you being like this?”

 He sounds exasperated, like Louis is some unreasonable toddler he’s getting tired of handling. Like Louis’ concerns and feelings aren’t perfectly reasonable.

Louis laughs, but it’s bitter and without warmth, and just so, so very unlike Louis. “I’m in love with you.” He says, keeping his voice emotionless. “And, well, I’m sorry that’s such a big inconvenience for you, but, like, it’s not exactly a walk in the part for me either.”

“Well, neither is loving you!” Harry says, his voice burning with frustration. He takes a step towards Louis and reaches out for his hand. Unconsciously Louis pulls it further away from Harry, and for a moment he sees hurt flash across Harry’s face, but it’s gone quickly, replaced by something soft and fond and determined. And so, so loving. Shit. Harry grabs Louis hand, his bigger one covering Louis’ with its warmth. Harry is quiet for a moment more, before continuing, he voice tender and determined all at once, like it’s important for him that Louis will understand what he says next. Maybe it is. Important, that is. Probably. “But I do, okay? So, so fucking much. So forgive me if I really, really don’t understand what your problem is! We love each other. I _love_ you, Louis. I’ve loved you for three years, and I’ll probably love you for the next three thousand. I’m so ridiculously in love with you I can’t even see straight most of the time, and you are in love with me-”

“So is he.” Louis interrupts, pulling his hand from Harry’s because... Because he can’t fucking think straight when they’re touching. He’s in so deep, it’s ridiculous, never getting out, probably, no matter what happens.  A moment passes in silence, and then, for clarification, he adds, “Nick. Nick is in love with you, too. Nicholas fucking Grimshaw.”

This time Louis thinks time may actually have stopped. Harry is frozen in position, his face etched in a frown, like he doesn’t understand what Louis is saying. Stupid, stupid, naïve, _lovely_ Harry. Then, from one moment to the next, it changes drastically. Harry’s brow furrows deeper and he actually – honest to God - growls, as he takes a step closer to Louis, and then another, and another, so quickly that Louis barely registers it before Harry has him pinned against the wall, his face mere centimetres from Louis’. It makes Louis nearly cross eyed to look at him.

“Shut up,” Harry snarls, his hand having moved to cover Louis’ mouth. “I love you!” He says. Quietly. Privately. Fiercely. Like he absolutely _needs_ Louis to know. “I love you.” He repeats and moves his hand from Louis mouth, to rest on his chest over his heart. They are pressed together from feet to chest, everything aligned, Louis tilting his head up towards Harry unconsciously, and Harry bowing down slightly. “I love you.” He repeats again, and places his lips on Louis’ where his hand was before. It’s chaste, nothing but the firm pressure of Louis’s lips against his own. He pulls back slightly. “I love you.” Leans in. Kiss. “I love you.” Kiss. “I love you.” Lips moving against lips, repeating the same words, speaking them into Louis’ mouth, like he’s trying to tattoo them to his lips. Given their history it would only be appropriate. “I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Harry pulls away slightly, keeping both hands on either side of Louis’ face, where they’d migrated to. “He’s _not_!” He says fiercely. “He’s not. And even if he is, Louis, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t. Doesn’t change anything. Could never change anything. I love you. _You_ , Louis, only you.” He pauses and trails his hands from Louis face down his toned chest. “I’m never going to want Nick bloody Grimshaw, when I can have you. Wouldn’t want him even if I couldn’t have you.” He pauses again, this time to pull Louis’ t-shirt over his head. Louis hasn’t said a word since Harry started his proclamation of love.

Harry continues softly, as his hands trail over Louis’ newly exposed skin, leaving it tingling in his wake. “I’m never going to want anyone but you.” He kisses Louis’ mouth softly once, before mapping the line of Louis’ jaw with his lips, moving lower, kissing down his neck, pausing at his delicate collarbones to suck a deep purple mark claiming him as his. His hands continue to roam Louis’ chest, before dropping lower to his sweats.

Harry takes him mouth off Louis, and briefly admires the mark he’s left behind, before looking up at Louis, meeting his eyes – dark with lust – as he slowly sinks to his knees in front of him, pulling down Louis’ sweats and boxers, freeing his already hard cock. For a moment he stills, eyes fixed on Louis’ erect member, baffled by the fact that he is lucky enough to know every intimate detail there is to know about Louis’ sublime body, that he gets to touch and taste and look and kiss, that what he is looking at right now is actually his.

“Haz-“ Louis broken voice sounds from above him. He sounds absolutely wrecked, and Harry – Harry did that to him. Shit. And he hasn’t even _touched_ him yet. It still baffles him that he has that kind of power over Louis, to be honest. Louis is practically shaking with the effort of holding still, of not trusting towards Harry in the hopes of getting his mouth, a hand, anything really. “Haz…” He repeats again, his eyes locked with Harry’s – and Harry sees, knows, understands the kind of need Louis is feeling right now, because it’s always like this between them, whether slow, or fast, or hard, or tender, it’s always with the same intensity, the same insatiable need for the other. Harry never thought it was possible to feel like this with another person. He knows for sure he never will with anyone but Louis.

He keeps his eyes locked with Louis, and places one hand on his hip, grip tight as if to emphasize the point he’s about to make. “You ruined me for anyone but you when I was sixteen.”  And then he, quite without preamble, takes the head of Louis cock into his mouth, and sucks.

Louis’ filthy moan goes straight to Harry’s already painfully hard cock, and he presses down with the heel of his free hand, trying to take some of the edge off. Pulling his mouth off Louis, he trails his tongue along the thick vein on the underside of Louis’ cock. He opens his mouth wider, and takes it in again, going deeper and deeper, until he feels Louis against the back of his throat. His eyes are watering due to the strain, but it’s good, it’s so, so good. Harry loves blowing Louis, loves how his voice gets all hoarse afterwards, loves how his jaw aches a bit with the size of him, loves how the heavy weight of his dick feels on Harry’s tongue, how Louis makes the most delicious needy noises, sounds which Harry knows he’s the only one who gets to hear.

Harry looks up through his lashes and lock eyes with Louis. Never breaking the eye contact, he squeezes Louis’ hip with his hand, and swallows around him. Louis’ eyes flutter closed, and he lets out a filthy groan, all but shaking with pleasure. “Fuck, Haz…” he hisses, his arm going to rest on Harry’s shoulder, squeezing it tight. I love you, it means, Harry knows. Louis is too overwhelmed to say the words, but Harry knows.

Harry pulls off, almost entirely, until only the head is resting on his tongue. He squeezes Louis hip again, and then removes his hand, clasping both of them behind his own back, opening his mouth a bit more.

Louis clearly gets the message, as he groans one more time, seeming unable to form any other reply, before trusting into Harry’s mouth carefully. Louis hands both migrate to Harry’s hair, one hand cradling the back of Harry’s head, making sure that it stays in the position Louis desires, the other clasped gently in Harry’s curls. He continues to trust into Harry’s mouth, Harry tightening his lips around him, creating a tight, wet heat around Louis’ cock. Louis moans filthily again, and, shit, Harry is so, so hard, it’s ridiculous.

Louis is close, if the way his hand is tightening in Harry’s curls is any indication, and soon Harry feels him trusting in deeper, deeper until he once again hits the back of Harry’s throat. Harry focuses on breathing through his nose, and then – then Louis comes. His come shooting down Harry’s throat, his voice creating sounds of pleasure that ought to be illegal, and his hands tightening in Harry’s hair, pulling it painfully, and that… well, that does it for Harry, and before he knows it he’s coming in his pants from nothing but the pressure of his own hand, and an overdose of LouisLouisLouis.

Louis pulls out of Harry’s mouth, the last drops of come trailing down Harry’s cheek where Louis’ softening cock grazes it. He slides down the wall, naked save the trackers around his ankles, and so, so beautiful.

He seems to need a moment, and Harry is content to wait, still riding out the remnants of his own orgasm. Soon Louis leans closer to him, his hand moving to cup Harry’s dick in his jeans. He must feel the wet stickiness through the fabric, because his face lights up, a genuine smile overtaking his features.

“Only me?” He questions, removing his hand from Harry’s crotch to intertwine it with one of Harry’s.

“Only you.” Harry confirms. “Only ever you.”

Louis’ smile widens, and he moves to straddle Harry, pushing him back so that he’s lying on the floor, Louis hovering above him. Louis bends down, letting their lips mould together. They fit so well, like two pieces of the same puzzle. “Mine.” Louis states into Harry’s mouth, their lips still connected.

“Yes.” Harry replies, pressing his lips against Louis’ again, with more force.

Louis pulls back slightly, his face arranged in a soft smile, eyes crinkling at the corners the way that Harry loves so. He takes their clasped hands, keeping himself up with the other, and brings Harry’s hand to his chest. He places it over his own heart, and Harry can feel the beat that is keeping Louis alive through his skin. “Yours.” Louis says, voice quiet and intimate and so, so fond. “Only yours. Always yours. Forever.”

**JOY**

Harry finds himself in a rather foul mood as he parks his car in the garage next to his and Louis’ house. It’s not that all his day has been bad, more like just a bad evening, or, well, maybe it has actually only been the last hour that has truly sucked. But then again it has been so very bad that not even the fact that the rest of his day has been fine can make up for it. Maybe it should have been able to, but it’s just that this last horrid hour has gotten Harry into such a truly horrific mood that he has a hard time focusing on the good parts of the day.

And it actually had been a good day.

It’s not like the day is over yet either, it’s only seven o’clock, and yet all Harry wants to do is curl up in bed with Louis wrapped around him and sleep for possibly a decade. That’s not too much to ask, is it?

The day had started out brilliantly, but then again mornings usually did nowadays – ever since they’d returned to London, and Harry got to wake up every morning with Louis in his arms, lying in their own bed in their own home, it was a pretty safe bet that at the very least that part of the day would be good. This morning had been no exception. He’d been the first to wake up, which was by no means a rare occurrence, and he’d allowed himself a few seconds to admire the man in his arms. He loved every kind of Louis, but a sleeping one was always something special. Louis was always so tough and sassy and invincible in public, but lying here in Harry’s arms, his chest rising and falling steadily, he looked so soft and relaxed, and almost… vulnerable. Sort of like he’d let all his guards down in his sleep, trusting Harry to keep him safe. Harry treasured being one of the only people, who got to see Louis like this. He’d buried his hand in Louis’ soft hair, resting it palm down on Louis’ cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of Louis’ lips.

He hadn’t exactly intended to wake up Louis, but when he saw the older boy’s eyelashes flutter as he blinked open his eyes, he couldn’t contain the smile his lips curled into.

“Morning, love.” Louis’ was raspy with sleep and this, this right here might be his favourite way to have Louis – all sleepy and rough voiced and cuddly. Harry had leaned forwards, moulding their lips together, morning breath be damned.

So, yeah. Good morning. Harry sort of wished they could’ve stayed in bed all day together. It’s not really a possibility when you’re a part of the world’s biggest boy band, though. He had a shopping date with Nick today, and even though he was somewhat looking forward to a nice day with his friend, he was absolutely not looking forward to the paps he knew their joint PR-team had called. It seemed to Harry that everything in his life was determined by PR right now, and he absolutely loathed it.

“Hey,” Louis had said, calling Harry back from his thoughts. Automatically Harry turned his body to face Louis, and one of Louis’ delicate hands came to cup Harry’s cheek. “You’ll be home tonight, yeah? We’ll have dinner together?”

Harry paused for a second, having actually assumed he’d grab something with Nick before heading home to spend the rest of his evening with Louis, foregoing a party with the Primrose-crowd. “Well, I was thinking maybe I’d-“

“Please?” Louis interrupted, and for a second Harry stilled completely as he searched Louis’ eyes, baffled by why this seemed to be such an important deal to him.

“Okay.” Harry agreed. He placed his hand over Louis’. “Of course, Lou. I probably won’t be home until seven or so, though.”

“That’s fine,” Louis had said, as he leaned in, and placed his lips gently on Harry’s. “It’s fine, babe. Seven sounds fantastic. Just as long as you’ll come.”

And then they’d spent the rest of their morning cuddled close together, as they drank tea, and ate breakfast, and watched shitty sitcoms on their TV. It always seemed kind of silly, but they were usually like this when they came home from longer periods away. Even though they’d just spend ridiculous amounts of time together on the road, it was also ridiculous amounts of time where they had to be constantly aware of where they were, constantly had to keep their distance from each other, and even when it was just the two of them, it was restricted to hotel rooms and the tour bus, and, well, it wasn’t exactly the same as being home. So they also found themselves living in each other’s pockets on the first few days home.

When Harry had left to meet up with Nick, it had been a smiley, bouncy Louis he’d left behind, receiving his fair share of goodbye kisses. It wasn’t unusual for Louis to be happy like this, except for the fact that it kind of was. Harry knew how tough the last part of the tour had been for Louis, with Australia being particularly hard and the “Harry-Paige”-stunt not exactly doing any good. So it was really nice to see him genuinely happy, even if he did seem to simmer with some kind of nervous energy, Harry was strangely unfamiliar with.

His day with Nick had been just fine. It was strange spending time with the older man, when Harry knew that it was only fifty percent because of genuine friendship, and fifty percent for PR. Harry did consider Nick a great friend – it was amazing actually knowing an out and proud man such as Nick, who also knew about Harry – but he was growing vary of the PR-part of their friendship. Also the growing animosity between Louis and Nick was tiring for Harry, and he especially didn’t appreciate the snide remarks Nick made about Louis on the regular. They had found some kind of common ground by just not speaking of Harry’s relationship when together, but ignoring such a huge part of Harry’s life – arguably the biggest – wasn’t really foundations for a close friendship either. So, as a result, they had been growing apart for a long time.

It was nice to catch up with him, nonetheless, and if neither of them were too upset about having to part around six o’clock, so that Harry could go home to Louis as he’d promised, well… Harry was strangely okay with that. Nick had tried talking him into getting dinner and drinks with a couple of the others from Nick’s crowd, but Harry was quick to shut it down, explaining his deal with Louis, and Nick hadn’t pushed matters further.

So, really, up until six o’clock in the evening, Harry’s day had been just fine. His morning with Louis had been phenomenal – blissfully domestic in all its simplicity, his day with Nick had been nice – Harry had barely noticed the paps, and now he was about to return to Louis once again. Harry doubted that Louis would have dinner ready, so that task would fall to Harry once he got back, but then again Harry most definitely didn’t mind. Louis had only ever cooked that one meal in his life, and he had sworn never to go near a kitchen again, even if it had turned out quite good. Louis had insisted that if he kept cooking for Harry, it would take away what made the first time so special, and Harry had merely rolled his eyes fondly at the silliness that was Louis Tomlinson.

Everything took a turn for the worse then, though. Harry had only been driving for about fifteen minutes, trying to get out of London through the thick traffic, when he noticed the car behind him seemed to be following him. Upon closer inspection in his rear view mirror, he recognized it as the car that had followed him multiple times to his and Louis’ home, and who had taken pictures of Harry outside their hedge. Harry had contacted a lawyer only last week, in order to get an injunction against these paps, and now they seemed to be following him once again.

Sighing in irritation, Harry turned left at the next traffic light, instead of continuing straight ahead, intent on losing them before returning home.  Harry soon discovered that such a thing, was one of those things that looked much easier in movies, and that he under all circumstances in no way, shape or form was cut out to be a superspy.

In the end he ended up pulling up at the side of the road. Turning off the engine of the car, he checked his phone, seeing that it was half past six, and that he would be hard pressed to make it home to Louis on time. Damn it.

Even the fact that the black car continued past Harry when he stopped, seeming to have given up on following Harry now that he’d stopped driving, and clearly wasn’t leading them anywhere of interest, was not enough to rid him of his foul mood.

Few things _really_ annoyed Harry nowadays – he’d become fairly good at taking everything in a stride, and making the best of it, but these paps who were trying to invade the only place left where Harry and Louis could truly be HarryandLouis without restrictions, really got his blood boiling. The fact that these idiots had tried to do it again, had put a massive damper on Harry’s good day.

He made a mental note to inform his lawyer about this episode in the morning, but for now settled on pulling away from the curb, intent on getting back to Louis as close to on time as possible.

His good spirits gone, Harry felt absolutely none of the desire to cook dinner he’d felt earlier, and had come to the conclusion that takeaway must be the answer, which left him even more annoyed with himself, over the fact that what was supposed to be a romantic night with Louis, was now turning into some generic Friday evening, with Harry in a shitty mood, which was destined to put Louis in a funk as well. Typical.

So when Harry parks his car, he is in decidedly worse mood than when he left in the morning. He sits in the car for a few minutes, the engine off, trying to shake some of his bad mood off before joining Louis in their house. It doesn’t exactly work, but he comes to the conclusion that the only thing that may actually have a shot at working at this point, is burying himself in Louis’ arms, letting the older boy cuddle him on the couch. Yes. Right now that sounds really, fucking appealing.

Harry gets out of the car, grabbing the bags filled with today’s shopping haul (most of it bought with Louis in mind, if Harry is totally honest) from the trunk, and makes his way for their front door. He finds it unlocked, and pushes his way inside, grateful for the warmth and smell of home – the unique mix of Louis and him that could only really be found here.

“Lou?” He shouts, as he pushes the door closed behind him, and places the bags by the stairs leading upstairs where the bedrooms are. “Love? I’m home. Listen, paps were tailing me on the way home, and I don’t really feel like cooking, could we just-“ He cuts off abruptly, as he sees Louis standing in the door that leads to their dining room.

“Hi, babe.” Louis says, smiling softly, and the thing is, Louis looks _incredible_. Like, Harry’s mind is actually fucking speechless. Also, he’s pretty sure he’s all out gaping, there might actually be an open mouth involved. And it’s not that Louis doesn’t always look fucking brilliant, because he does, and Harry really has seen Louis at his very worst, and even then he still thought he was the most beautiful human being ever to grace the planet.  It’s just that Louis looks really, really, really good right now – like he actually made a real effort to look good. His hair is styled into this new do Lou has been favouring – hot-dad-hair, Harry likes to call it, much to the other boys’ amusement and Louis’ chagrin (he’s not all too on board with things suggesting he’s old – the fact that his 22 nd birthday is looming, is making him quite sensitive to all things age related). Harry means it as the sincerest form of flattery, though, because it makes Louis look brilliant, and Harry’s pretty sure Louis knows exactly what it does to Harry when he wears it like that, hence the fact that he keeps doing so.  

Louis is also wearing a pair of sinfully tight black jeans, the hem rolled up, exposing his ankles and revealing a pair of socks with yellow bananas on them. It’s not like Louis to wear socks, but Harry’s been nagging him for days about not walking around at home barefooted, worried that he might become ill. The banana-socks clash quite horribly with the soft, familiar knit Louis is also wearing, which Harry recognizes immediately as the one from their Paris interview a long time ago, but Harry knows that Louis only put them on for Harry’s amusement, as he’d bought the socks for Louis as a joke way back when they were in the X Factor-house. Even then Louis had been quite adverse to wearing socks, and Harry has fussed over his feet like an adoring mother. Come to think of it, Louis has worn neither the socks nor the sweater in a very long time.   

The overall look is some dashing mix of carefully casual and very, very hot (despite the banana socks, which Harry assumes Louis is only wearing because they are at home, because, really, they do look ridiculous).

“Lou,” Harry breathes, still feeling quite speechless. “You look amazing, babe.” It hits him then that Louis would never dress up like this for a day at home with Harry, he’d be in the comfortable trackers he prefers, and one of Harry’s oversized sweaters, and most likely with unstyled hair, probably even glasses if Harry’s lucky. So Harry arrives at the conclusion that Louis must be going out, and, fuck, Harry feels his heart drop into his stomach, because, damn, just when he thought the day couldn’t get worse. “Are you going out with Eleanor tonight?” He questions, voicing aloud the only logical conclusion he could come up with to explain Louis’ attire.

Louis’ face morphs into an expression of clear confusion. “What?” He questions, brow furrowed. “El? What’s El got to do with anything?”

“You’re all dressed up, so you’re going out, right? I just figured it was to meet up with El, since we don’t have plans. Just don’t remember you telling me, is all.” He trails off, busying himself with taking off his coat and hanging it on the rack, and the toeing off his boots, placing them neatly next to the rest of their shoes.

Louis is silent while Harry putters around, and he doesn’t speak until Harry turns around to face him again. “We do have plans, H. Remember? I asked you to be home tonight. I’m not meeting up with El.”

“Oh,” Harry says, surprised. He takes several steps towards Louis until he’s standing in front of him. He reaches down to peck Louis on the lips, settling his hands on Louis’ hips. “All this for me then?” He questions, stroking his thumbs over Louis’ hipbones.

“Can’t I attempt to look nice for my boyfriend without you getting suspicious?” Louis questions playfully, his hands having moved to rest on Harry’s shoulders.

Harry kisses him again quickly, just a chaste press of his lips against Louis’. He can already feel most of the anger, frustration and bad mood ebb away just because of Louis’ presence. A miracle worker he is, truly.

“You always look nice, love,” Harry says, because he’s the kind of shit who feels the need to reassure Louis that he’s always perfect in Harry’s eyes. “But you’re looking particularly gorgeous today.” He pulls the sweater slightly and smiles down at Louis. “I’ve missed this sweater. Didn’t know you still had it. And the socks.” He grins slightly, his dimples surely making an appearance, and places his toes over Louis’, standing impossibly close now.

“Hmm.” Louis hums in acknowledgement. “Felt it was appropriate to bring it back today. They’re my lucky socks, you know?” He hesitates slightly, then pulls his feet from underneath Harry’s, and takes a step backwards into their dining room. “I made dinner.” He states quietly, almost shyly, which, well, so, so unlike Louis.

“Oh.” Is all Harry can think to say, as he looks past Louis, and sees their dining table set beautifully, their fancy china out on display. “Lou, what is this?”

“It’s- well…” Louis falters slightly, before taking Harry’s hand, and pulling him towards the table. “I just wanted to do something nice for you tonight. Sit down, love. I’ll get the food.” He hurries out of the room, leaving Harry to sit down in his chair, and giving him an opportunity to take it all in. There is a vase filled with pink peonies on the table, and Louis has even chosen the fancy cloth napkins they have, which are so rarely used, as they often just elect to go the easier route with paper napkins.   

When Louis returns, he’s carrying a plate loaded with what Harry instantly recognizes as chicken wrapped in parmaham, and it doesn’t take more than two seconds for Harry to connect the dots, and realize that Louis has recreated the only meal he’s ever cooked Harry (only this time adding a simple green salad, knowing how much Harry is all about clean eating nowadays).

“Lou,” Harry smiles, overwhelmed, “did I forget an anniversary or some other kind of special occasion?”

Louis grins big, eyes crinkling the way Harry loves, and shakes his head. “Nope,” He states. “Nothing like that. Maybe I just wanted to spoil my favourite boy…” He trails off as he loads food onto Harry’s plate, Harry breathing in the aroma gratefully – also gratefully noticing that it seems like Louis has managed to cook everything just as well as he did the last time, and also silently thanking God that his house is still standing, and not just a pile of ashes from the kitchen fire Louis could just as easily have started.

“Well, I’m definitely not complaining.” Harry smiles, before tilting his head up towards the standing Louis, in silent demand of a kiss. Louis complies quickly, pressing their lips together again, before smiling privately at Harry and moving to the other side of the table, settling on his chair and tugging into his dinner.

While eating (and, like, major kudos to Louis, because he might only be able to cook one dish, but at least he cooks it well  (when Harry tells him this, Louis positively beams with pride, and, really, if that’s not what Harry is here on earth to see, then what’s the point, really?)) Harry fills Louis in on his day with Nick, and the business with the paps. They also link their feet under the table, and a one point lazes their hands together on top of it.

It’s domestic and brilliant and wonderful and everything Harry hopes their future will be.

“I want this for the rest of my life, Lou,” He says quietly, stroking his thumb over Louis’ knuckles. “Like, literally every day for the rest of my life, I want this. With you.”

Louis smiles softly. “Me too, Haz.” He says, and hesitates for a moment before continueing. “Actually, well, there is something today, like a reason for all this.” He pauses for a moment, allowing Harry just enough time to rack his brain for a reason for Louis doing all this, but he’s still coming up short. “I really hope there’s no doubt that I love you, Harry. So very, very much. Sometimes I still can’t believe that it’s possible to love someone as much as I love you. And we haven’t exactly had an easy run of it, I know that, but what we have is so worth all the pain and the secrets, I think. I’d go through hell and back to preserve this, Haz, I’d do it all again. And you could have absolutely anyone in the world, but you chose me, and that means so much – that you think I’m worth it, that we’re worth it. You’re the love of my life, and I don’t doubt that for a second. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to have a house full of kids with you. I want the sleepless nights, and the mashed potatoes in my hair, and the ballet recitals, and graduations, and grandchildren. I want to sit next to you in a nursing home in seventy years and reminiscence about our life together. I want it all, and I want it with you. I keep thinking that they should have invented a word stronger than love, because how I feel about you is so much more. I _love_ you.” Louis pauses his monologue, allowing him to take a deep breath.

Harry is clutching Louis hand in his, staring at him, eyes wide. He’s got a small inkling as to where this is going, but he doesn’t have time to dwell on the thought, because Louis continues speaking.

“I know we’ve already talked about this, I know that it’s pretty much a given, and I probably shouldn’t be this nervous since we’ve already pretty much agreed to it. And, like, this isn’t me assuming you’re a sure thing, or, well, it is, because I hope you are, but, like, don’t feel obligated to just because we talked about it. Say what you like, like, fuck. Shit, I don’t think I’m supposed to swear right now, damn.”

Harry cuts off Louis’ ramble when a short bark of a laugh erupts quite unexpectedly from his lips. He’s smiling wide, butterflies fluttering in his stomach. “Lou,” He says, but before he can continue, Louis has shaken his head, and gotten up from his chair.

It only takes a couple of strides for him to be in front of Harry, Harry having twisted in his seat to be facing Louis. Louis visibly takes a deep breath, and then drops down on one knee. Harry’s breath catches in his throat, even though this was what he had started to expect was happening. The sight of Louis on one knee in front of him isn’t one he’s likely to forget, and he feels his eyes well with tears, felling entirely overwhelmed, and so fucking happy he could burst. A stark contrast to his feelings when he’d gotten home. Today’s been quite an emotional rollercoaster for Harry so far.

“Harry,” Louis continues, “Haz, babe, love. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I love you more than words can say. I want it to be official that we’re engaged, or at least as official as it can be with us at the moment.” He pauses for a moment, to reach into his pocket, and before Harry knows it, Louis is holding a silver ring between his fingers, presenting it to him. “Love, will you marry me?”

Tears rolling down Harry’s cheeks in earnest now, he drops to his knees in front of Louis, so that they are eye to eye, and cradles the older boy’s head between his hands, slotting their mouths together.

“Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.” Harry chants into Louis’ mouth, his wet cheeks rubbing against Louis’. He finally pulls back, and lets out a watery laugh and a blinding smile. “Yes, Lou. Yes. There’s literally nothing I want more than to marry you.”

Louis’ answering smile is blinding, as he reaches for Harry’s hand, to slide on the ring. It’s very modest, but Harry loves the weight of it against his finger. “I know it’s nothing special, but I thought that if it was simple, then you could actually wear it along with the other half a million rings you already wear, and no one but us would know…”

“It’s brilliant, Lou. It’s perfect. Thank you.” He kisses Louis again, hard. “We’re going to get married.” Harry’s smile is big, and he’s positively euphoric. “We’re engaged. Like, really, proper engaged!”

Louis laughs and nods, “Yeah, Haz. We are.”

“You’re my fiancé. And I love you, Lou, so much.” Grabbing Louis face again, he pulls him into a proper kiss this time, their lips slotting together. It doesn’t take long before their hands are buried in each other’s hair, Louis’ tongue tracing along Harry’s lower lip, Harry quickly parting his lips and accepted Louis into his mouth.

Louis’ tongue is doing unspeakable thing to Harry’s mouth, and his hands are tugging gently at Harry’s curls. He lets out a moan, and Harry can feel how his cock is starting to fill up in his trousers. “Bedroom.” He manages to get out, as Louis’ mouth has moved down to suck marks into Harry’s throat. “Bedroom, Lou.” He feels Louis’ head nod against his neck, and soon he’s being pulled to his feet, their lips quickly finding each other again.

Blindly Harry stumbles backwards, refusing to move his lips from Louis’, and they manage to make their way across the dining room with minimal damage. Their aim is slightly off, however, when they make to cross the threshold, and Harry ends up pressed against the wall next to the door, Louis’ body pressed against his. Louis’ tight jeans leave little to the imagination, and Harry can feel his fiancé’s hard cock against his thigh, just as painfully hard as his own. They rut against each other for a moment, their tongues still tangling filthily as they kiss.

Louis tears his mouth from Harry’s after a moment, both of them panting. “Come on, Haz. Bedroom. I wanna ride my fiancé, let’s go!”

Harry’s cock twitches at Louis’ words, and fuck, shit, fuckfuckfuck, he’s so hard he can’t bloody think straight. Grabbing Louis by the hand he pulls both of them out into their hall, stumbling over a pair of Louis’ vans lying in the hallway. “Bloody Spiderman shoes!” He mutters as he regains his balance, and he startles as he hears Louis’ bright laughter from behind him. Louis’ laughter is contagious, and soon Harry finds himself laughing as well, as they run up the stairs like eager teenagers (which, well, in Harry’s case still is applicable).       

When they make it into their bedroom, Harry is quickly pulling his sweater over his head, before turning to Louis and shredding his as well. His hands move to Louis’ jeans, popping the button and unzipping them, wriggling the tight fabric down his boyfriend – no, fiancé’s – muscular thighs, all while kissing the newly exposed skin he’s revealing. When the jeans are finally entirely off, Harry focuses on Louis’ dick, which is tenting obscenely in his simple black pants. Looking up through his lashes at Louis, Harry places a gentle kiss against it, and can’t help but smirk as he sees it twitch, and hears Louis’ breath stutter.

He stands up again, his lips finding Louis’ as he hooks his thumbs under the elastic of Louis’ pants and drags them down over his perfect bum and shapely thighs. His cock sprigs free, hard and glorious, and very, very much Harry’s favourite dick in the world. Not that he really has any experience with any but Louis’ and his own, but he most definitely doesn’t feel any need to have so either. He wraps his hand around it, his thumb stroking over the head, eliciting a moan from Louis’ lips that shoots straight to Harry’s own dick.

Louis’ nimble fingers work open the button of Harry’s jeans, grazing Harry’s taut stomach, and sending shivers down his spine. Harry moves to rid himself of his jeans and pants, but stumbles slightly, steadying himself on Louis, when they get caught around his ankles. Louis’ warm laughter rings out again, and Harry can’t help but join in. He can’t remember the last time he felt this happy, this carefree, and it’s absolutely glorious.

When they’re both finally naked, Louis pushes Harry backwards, until he’s spread out eagle like on the bed, naked and exposed.  Louis crawls on top of him, kissing his way up Harry’s torso, until he reaches his lips. He places a soft kiss against them, before pulling back and locking eyes with Harry. “No condom tonight. I want to feel you, all of you, and I prepped myself before you got here.” He says, as he sits himself on Harry’s thighs, and twists his body to reach for the lube in their bedside drawer. Harry moans, already feeling so wrecked, needing so badly to be inside of Louis.

Soon he feels Louis’ hand, sticky with lube, wrapping around Harry’s dick, and he can’t help but buck his hip, wanting moremoremore.

When Louis deems Harry’s cock sufficiently coated, he leans forward to kiss Harry once, before lining himself over it. Harry helps holding his dick steady, as Louis slowly sinks down. The tight heat that envelopes Harry is something he’s certain he’ll never get used to, even after all this time. He still has to steel himself and take deep breathes not to come at once.

He looks up though hooded eyes at Louis, who has managed to sink all the way down on Harry’s cock, his chest flushed red under the ‘it is what it is’ and eyes hooded. Harry takes in the majestic sight, reaching out his hands to grab Louis’ hips, and breathes in deeply.

“Fuck, Lou,” he gets out. “Feels amazing.” Louis smirks, and really, Harry fucking loves it when Louis’ rides him. He’s yet to experience any kind of sex with Louis that wasn’t highly satisfactory, but having Louis ride him is one of his favourite things, only perhaps tying with Louis fucking him hard and fast, with Harry’s dick squeezed between their bodies.

Louis lets out a moan, as he lifts himself up, almost all the way off, and then sinking down again. Without the condom to act as a barrier, Harry feels every brush, every stroke vividly. Louis quickly works himself into a rhythm, moving up and down Harry’s shaft, squeezing tight and teasing Harry, until pleasure clouds his brain to the point where he can’t think actual thoughts. He’s reduced to filthy moans and feeling, feeling, feeling, just focused on not coming too soon, not wanting it to be over too quickly. He moves his hands from where they clutched Louis’ hips, to cup his perfect bum, one hand moving further down to where his own member is disappearing repeatedly into Louis’ hole. Moving two fingers along the vein on the underside of his cock, he moaned again, feeling his orgasm building in the pit of his stomach.

“So close, Lou,” he manages to get out, and he feels Louis acknowledge him, as he pulls Harry up to a sitting position, clutching his arms around Harry’s shoulder, keeping their chests pressed against each other, Louis’ dick caught in between them. Louis lifts himself again, and when he sinks down again, he lets out a loud moan, making Harry know that the change of angle is making him hit Louis’ prostate. Louis continues moving up and down, his thighs surely burning now, muscles screaming in a way Louis once confessed that he loves very much.

Harry reaches between their bodies, wrapping his hand around Louis’ cock. The angle is awkward, but Harry manages to stroke Louis in time to his movements anyway. The combination of Harry inside him, hitting his prostate repeatedly, and Harry’s hand wrapped around his aching cock, soon has Louis coming, shooting thick ribbons of white up both their chests. Louis clenches around Harry, as he rides out his orgasm, and that is what sends Harry over the edge. The orgasm takes over Harry’s body like a wave crashing onto the beach, submerging him completely in incredible pleasure, white spots forming in front of his eyes, and for a few seconds he feels nothing but intense pleasure and LouisLouisLouis.

When he comes back to himself, Louis has pushed him back on the bed, while straddling him. Harry’s dick is still inside Louis in a way that he’s sure must be starting to be slightly painful for Louis, but which neither of them minds, because they both enjoy the intimacy of being linked still, in the aftermath of sex.

Finally Louis pulls off, rolling over to lie next to Harry, cuddling into his chest, and slotting their legs together. They’re both covered in come, filthy and sweaty. Harry’s come is surely oozing out of Louis at the very moment, but neither of them cares too much, to be honest.

“Hmm.” Harry hums noncommittally. “That was something, eh?”

Louis’ answer is a chuckle. “Brilliant, Harold, love. Lovely to know that the sex hasn’t turned boring yet, even if we are a step closer to being an old, married couple.”

Harry smiles and nuzzles his nose into Louis’ soft hair, breathing in his smell. “I can’t wait to be an old married couple with you, Lou. I’m so, so happy right now.” 

“Good,” Louis breathes, wrapping his arm over Harry’s chest, placing a chaste kiss over his heart. “Me too.”

 

 It’s a couple of days later when they’re taping the Jonathan Ross show that Louis brings up the meal again. Louis is twisting the truth slightly, but Harry has to fight to keep the smirk off his face nonetheless. Glancing down in his lap, he sees the plain silver band on his finger, and he’s doesn’t succeed at all.

_“I once- I only really ever cooked one meal._

_That was pretty…. Nice.”_

 

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and/or comments telling me what you think is always appreciated. Pretty please. I hope you enjoyed!  
> Oh, and come talk to me on [Tumblr!](http://infinitelymint.tumblr.com) xxxx  
> Ps: if you have the time, I'd love to hear which moment/emotion was your favourite :-)


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